A mother’s joy

Early in Austin’s cancer journey, when I first requested wishes to transcribe onto the stars dangling from his hospital room ceiling, several people mentioned “homemade cards” in their wishes. As in, “I wish you live long enough to make plenty of homemade cards for your mom and dad.” At that point in my parenting career, with Braedan only three-and-a-half, I hadn’t yet gotten many homemade cards, or at least not many that were more than scribbles and smudges.

But now that I’m seven and a half years into motherhood, I can attest to the special joy of the homemade card. The “Look, Mom, I wrote that myself!” Or “I drew all four of us” with a headfooter father, mother, and two children, all legs and heads but no bodies.

It is the same joy that can be found in a smooshed handful of dandelions, given with pride and love. The gifts that in and of themselves mean nothing, but mean everything because of who they come from.

May all mothers know that joy. And may all children, those grown and not grown, continue to spread it.

Today’s Mother’s Day hike

I am one lucky mama.

A repost of last year’s Mother’s Day blog, just because I really love it:

Here is the latest video from Kelly Corrigan: the thank you note that moms really want and really deserve from their children on Mother’s Day. Of course, few of us will ever hear such words pass our kids’ lips (or at least not until they have children of their own!), but we can at least hope that somewhere deep inside their beings they feel them. It’s not that we want them to owe us anything — not even thanks (although that would be nice) — but just that we all, as mothers, want our kids to be aware of how hard we try and how deeply we care and how much we love.

I’ve added a few of my own:

Thank you, mom, for taking care of me day and night. For holding me and rocking me back to sleep at 3 o’clock in the morning when I’m woken by some stranger taking my blood pressure. Thank you for remembering all my medications and making sure I get just the right dose at just the right time of day, and for turning it into a game or a race so it somehow feels fun, like when you take a Tums right along with me before I eat my cheesy meals so we can have a “Tums race” or be “Tums buddies.” Thank you, mom, for always (or at least, often) packing the right lunch and snacks and books and toys to keep me busy through hour after hour and day after day in the hospital. Thank you for never failing to flush my PICC line even when it’s midnight and you’ve just drifted off to sleep in your warm cozy bed. And speaking of that bed, thank you for scooting over so I can squeeze in between you and dad when I feel scared in the night. Thank you for treating me like a regular kid and letting me climb the rock wall and fall down and get hurt even when my platelets are low and my legs are already covered with purple welts.

Thank you, mom, for not forgetting about me, your healthy son. Thank you for making sure I always have fun playdates and for giving me veto power over whose house I go to, no matter how desperate you are. Thank you for emailing my teacher at the last minute so I’m not too surprised by who’s picking me up on unexpectedly long hospital days. Thank you, mom, for waking up early to bake homemade bread for the Teacher Appreciation Brunch. And for running back home to get my library book on library day so I can check out a new one. Thank you for arranging for friends to take me swimming all summer even though Austin can’t get wet. And for sneaking yogurts into my lunchbox so I can eat them away from the watchful and (understandably) jealous eyes of my brother. Oh, and speaking of jealous, thank you for listening with respect and not getting mad when I say I’m jealous of him, even if it makes your blood boil a little. Thank you, mom, for making sure I know that I’m remembered and heard and loved.

And thank you to my mom for always managing to fit in a several-hour visit to the hospital every single day we’re there, no matter how busy you are. Thank you for shooing me away and sending me home even if Austin is screaming in your arms as I leave. Thank you for reassuring me that it will be okay and for always telling me how okay it was when I get back. And thank you for valuing my daily workout as much as I do and making sure I have time to go for a run. Thank you for loving every second you spend with him in your arms and for making it seem like I’m giving you a gift when you’re really doing me a favor.